OCTOBER, 2003 E.V.

for Camella





(NOTE: If Linda Blair can become possessed by Pazuzu and piss on the floor, then so can I. So don't send e-mails telling me that parts of this newsletter aren't PC, send an exorcist instead. Better yet, send a Sumerologist. Even better yet, send a proctologist to help me remove this damned crucifix from my,(sorry, better now). For those of you who have e-mailed me asking about fun ideas for Halloween, here's a few simple suggestions.)


WENDY CARLOS "TALES OF HEAVEN AND HELL" featuring the dramatic




A few horror film aficionados might know about B-movie director Fredrick Skellig's 1933 masterpiece entitled "The Deviles Lantern." The "lantern" in question is an antique movie projector (a German made Blatner cinematographe) that contained a silent reel filmed at the THEATRE DU GRAND GUIGNOL in Paris in 1899. Evidently, the reel contained an actual Le Sacrifice Humain of a Victorian actress named La Belle Venus which is why when director Skellig inserted it into his 1933 film, all copies (except for a single nitrate copy that was found in an East-European archive) disappeared before its theatrical release. The nitrate copy itself was labeled "THE RAVEN'S DIDN'T TELL" which is an anagram for "THE DEVIL'S LANTERN" with a mysterious phrase "what the dagger spelled when it felli hinting at the real (real to reel) human sacrifice of the unfortunate actress. Although the video is very difficult to obtain (the film is not even mentioned in Cinfantastique, but possibly in a French magazine, Cashier du Cinema), it does exist and is intensely frightening with its atmospheric sets, murky camera work, and actual ritualistic murder that was originally screened in a basement lounge known as "Salon Indien" in Paris in 1899. A shocking film in the true Grand Guignol tradition, with an incredible surprise ending that concerns a magical alphabet of daggers iin the windows of a trapezohedroni (24 equal trapezoidal planes = to the four and twenty blackbirds of an occult nursery rhyme that signifies the number of months the astral corpse lingers near the deceased for a necromancer to "resurrect.")


Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,

Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie,

And when the pie was opened,

The birds began to sing...



Pour some pear schnapps into a shot glass. Add some Baileyis Irish Cream. When the Baileyis coagulates, the tendrils will resemble a small human brain. Then add some grenadine (to look like blood) and youive got yourself a brain hemorrhage.


11/2 shots of Vanilla Stoli Vodka

1/2 shot of spiced ginger ale

1 crushed cherry



which you can only obtain from Toyana Bay in Japan during the spawning season.


After the APC dress rehearsal, Adam, Buzz, Camella and myself went to the Daily Grill for a late dinner. Camella ordered the Chicken Chili. I thought that sounded good and looked for it on the menu. But I couldn't find it, because it wasn't on the menu. I told Camella this, but she didn't think it mattered. She was still going to order it. I told her that I thought that was a dangerous way to live, and that she should have a backup ready when the waiter told her they didn't have it. Well, when it came time to order, sure enough, the waiter told her that they didn't offer it that this particular Daily Grill. Camella didn't have a backup. But go ahead and try this at your favorite restaurant on Halloween.



The tailgate up in Oakland went reasonably well. But then we had to go into the Coliseum. My brother and I were dressed in our traditional black for the Monday night game, but Danny, Chef Ryan, and Kent ignored the warnings and donned KC Chiefs red. And so to a chorus of jeers, we headed towards our seats. When we sat down in section 5, several of the Raider faithful seated behind us threw up their hands in disgust. "Goddamn it, now WE'RE going to get wet!" they complained, knowing that grandpa Alis skull-festooned gang-bangers in silver and black face paint don't always hit their intended targets.

Throughout most of the game, Danny, Ryan and Kent took small arms fire, mostly beer, peanut shells, fizzling crack pipes, and assorted debris, but surprisingly nothing that was life threatening. I was beginning to think the Raider Nation had lost their "Commitment to Excellence", especially after seeing numerous fans in our section passing around a large plastic jar full of Red Vines. RED VINES! During a Raiders/Chiefs game! Is it too f***ing hard to find black licorice in the City by the Bay? Christ all f***ing mighty, whates going on up there? But my faith was soon restored. After the game, as we were walking back to the parking lot (to our ice chest on wheels), a three-hundred pound product of the environment hit chef Ryan in the back of the head, knocking off his KC hat. Unfazed, the KC resident just smiled, knowing his team was now 7-0. How scary is that? (if you're a Raiders fan, that is). Actually, Chef Ryan was so excited that the Chiefs squeaked past the injury plagued Raiders that he told me that all Tool fans who come into his restaurant (Giais - 2905 S.W. Blvd. K.C., MO.) and mention that they saw this newsletter will be given a free appetizer with any entrée they buy. But he'll make it especially good if you tell him that the Chiefs players were wearing their lucky fire engine red silky panties underneath and just got... lucky on Monday night.

(WARNING: While we were tailgating, a Raider fan next to us was busted for smoking a blunt. Evidently, members of the Oakland police department wander through the crowded parking lot dressed as the Raider faithful. Or just maybe, and hopefully this is the case, they were the Raider faithful pretending to be the law pretending to be the Raider faithful so that they could steal their "brother's" pot.)


On the night before the game, several us dined at one of the better restaurants in San Francisco. Not only was this bistro known for its excellent cuisine, but it also had a great wine selection. Even so, after sampling a really good Kistler, my brother (a wine snob) paid the (un)corking fee and had the waiter open two bottles of 1998 Penfolds Grange. (NOTE: readers of this site might recall that recently MJK paid $64.000 for an Imperial of this excellent Australian Siraz {the best Grange ever?}. The bottles that we drank were of the same vintage, with the only difference being that an Imperial is the equivalent of eight regular bottles, and that there are only a few, possibly two, produced). Just to f*** with the waiter, my brother, and with Kent (another wine snob), when the waiter poured some into my glass (after letting it breathe of course), I asked for a few ice cubes and some 7up. I wanted to make a wine cooler, I told the guy. You should have seen the look of horror on that guy's face. Same as that on Chef Ryan's face as he watched me do so.


Not the football team who might be the ones to end the Chiefs' winning streak, but discarded, 98% empty bottles of Corona on the furniture in our hotel room in the Berkeley Marina Hotel on the night before the game.

Around 5:00 am, with all the tequila and beer in the silver (and black) Coleman now gone, I watched as Kent (a former band mate of Dannyis from years ago) picked up one of these warm bottles from the table and drank from it. But before doing so, he muttered something to himself that sounded like the word, "Vikings." Fascinated, I asked him what he meant by this. He told me that while living back in KC in his youth, when he and his friends ran out of money in bars they would surreptitiously take half full/empty drinks on the bar when the rightful owners werenet looking. It mattered not what - a gin and tonic, tequila sunrise, a grasshopper. All these were called Vikings. So, around 6:00 am, I almost grabbed a Viking. Now thatis scary (kind of, well not really).


Now that's scary. Those in California. Hopefully our governor-elect, Schwarzenburger or whatever his name is - you know, the one some (Democrats) are calling a serial groper, will do something about this right out of the blocks. I mean, cimon, they're regulated to shit out here in the Golden State where some of the world's finest specimens (i.e. ladder climbers) come to make it big... In Southern Illinois where I relocated from (kicking the sod off my boots in the process) they're open 24-7, sell alcohol (and Busch beer if you don't want to drink alcohol), allow their gorgeous blondes of Nordic descent to show every inch (and then some) of God's best plan while performing (and I mean that in an artistic manner) spark-emitting grinding lap dances for a ten spot and a few Monopoly singles as your barbecue sandwich simmers, mingling with all the cigarette smoke in the wonderful place. Goddamnit, no wonder fallen angels are still wrecking their 442s in those frozen ditches. I only bring this up because we made the mistake of going into a gentleman's club in a Santa Clara strip mall during our recent Raider/Chiefs road trip. Damn if I hadn't been there before. Scary.


I didn't get a single e-mail today asking me when it was coming out. Now that's scary (if you're in Tool, that is). Nevertheless, I FINALLY do have some information about the release date which is now scheduled for...


Scary, you bet, but just wait until Arnold gets into office. Can't you just see the wall of flames glinting off his dark sunglasses. When it happens the next time, he'll probably just travel back into time and kick the living shit out of those firefighter/arsonists before they have a chance to click their Bicks, preventing the fires from ever starting in the first place. TOTAL RECALL... I'm for it if it's someone who can do the things that our new governor can do. (NOTE: Seriously, why don't they put all those planes spraying chemtrails on us to work, filling them with Michelob Ultra-lite to try and put out the blaze?)


Speaking of fire, neither Danny or I have eaten there yet since they've re-opened. Now thatis scary. But we will eat there soon and probably forget to put a roll of bathroom stationary in the freezer. Now that IS truly scary.


"He often forgot his gun at the restaurant."

-a patron.

Having met up at Adam and Camella's house at 6:30 pm, a bunch of us piled into Wes and Heather Borland's huge SUV. For the night's "frightfair", Wes played the part of the soccer mom from hell, with Adam riding shotgun. Tour guide Camella, Adele, and Heather were seated behind them with Buzz and myself listening over the intercom in the back. . Our first stop was Vitello's Italian restaurant, the place where Robert Blake left his gun the night someone whacked Bonny Lee Bakley. I presume this was Camella's idea, a night of going to haunted houses and visiting a few of the more famous local murder scenes in the City of Angels. Seated in Vitello's, Dale, Maureen and Kevin joined us (thus completing the Melvins),followed by a tired Kat. Camella, Adele and Heather ordered the Fusilli e Minestra ala Robert Blake and tried to get the rest of us to follow suit, but we had other things in mind (sometimes known as meatballs). Judging by the details of the crime given to us by Camella, I'm not so sure the actor whacked her. He might have been set up just like O.J. Still, in the unlikely event of spooky radiation beamed from outer space, I wouldn't want to run into a Bonny Lee Bakley raised from the dead looking for humans with their intestines full of Vitelloes meatballs. Anyway, the garlic bread wasn't half bad. Strangely enough, Kat only had one Perone, and then went home (scary).

From Vitello's we drove to our first haunted house. This was EXPERIMENTS IN TERROR on Magnolia Blvd in Burbank. We were the last group in, and I have to tell you that it was so scary in there that Adam coughed up Buzz's hair. Okay, not really. I just know that the actors playing scientists investigating the paranormal activity of the relocated "haunted" house knew that they weren't going to scare us. I mean Adam, Buzz, Dale and Wes... maybe, but not Adele, Camella and Maureen looking like they did.

Glancing at me, Buzz asked a "scientist" if there were any spiders in the house. "Yes", was his reply, "but you won't see them." At one point, when an ectoplasmic entity of sorts materialized, one paranormal researcher asked the other if what he just witnessed was iamazing.i With this, Heather turned to me and couldnet suppress a laugh. Nor could I. I mean this is Hollywood. I'd like to think that the guy blew his line and that the word in the script was actually "anomalous." But then again, this is Hollywood. (Scary)

Next, Wes drives us to the "FrightFair" Haunted House at Pierce College. Due to poor directions, we get lost. "Wes, West", I slur... I mean "West, Wes." While looking for the entrance, Buzz suggests that we ask the guy who looks like a zombie. This was his way of telling Wes that we were at the right place. As we were about to enter the place, the gatekeeper splits our group up, leaving Buzz, Kevin, Adele and myself on our own. "He's got my insulin," Buzz protests, pointing at Adam. This haunted house was better, with a chain link fence maze that no doubt would be difficult to negotiate while on ketamine. When we finally emerge, Camella asks us if we want to go look at what was once Phil Hartman's house in Encino.


For whatever reason, we do (what else were we going to do?). There's not much going on at 5065 Encino drive, so we decide to go check out the scene of a 1981 bloodbath on Wonderland Ave. On the way, Wes stops to get gas. As he fills up, Adam opens the back door and hands me a 24 oz can of Old English malt liquor. Scary. After driving by the house at 8763 Wonderland, and getting all the gruesome details from Camella, we decide to head home. But on the way, Wes calls Danny Lohner and asks him if it's alright for ten people to drop by. It is, and we do. When we get there, I quickly realize that Dannyis house really might be haunted. He should have charged the twenty dollars we paid elsewhere.


On the invite it said that wearing a costume was required. In that Kat and I don't normally do the costume thing, we have a little meeting the night before, panicking just a bit as we try to come up with something that requires the least amount of effort on our part. While eating our veggie tostadas and drinking Corona lites, Kat comes up with the perfect solution to our little dilemma (now that's scary if you've a big ego like me and think you're the most creative one). Let's go as Ralphs picketers she suggests. All we need to do is make some signs and wear them. To make it more realistic, we can take little Coleman thermoses filled with margaritas (in this way we kill two birds with one stone). I love the idea, even if I didn't think of it (Iive had a lot of really important things on my mind lately). So we drive by the nearest Ralphs on out way to rent Cheech and Chong's Up in Smoke, and see a bunch of the picketers' signs in a box... right next to a couple of Coleman thermoses' and a couple of Ralphs picketers keeping vigil. Damn! So instead of stealing them (remember they were Corona lites), we decide to take a photograph of one. Only we don't have a camera. So we go to Kat's place and watch Cheech and Chong (I love it when Cheech tells Chong to hurry up because he's got "lots of things to do" when he picks him up hitching a ride), agreeing to get together hours before the party to make our signs. The next night, I order Indian curries, and open a couple of Flying Horses as we go to work with our big red and black magic markers. We've done it.


As an added touch, on the back I (that's right, I came up with idea) write FUCK YOU IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT. GO SHOP AT WHOLE FOODS, AM-PM, or A ROACH COACH or eat shit and die for all I care. Why don't you go have a weenie roast! When we're finished, Adam and Camella (who aren't wearing costumes!) pick us up and we head to Maynard's house.

In our haste, we forgot to fill our prop Coleman thermoses with margaritas. Now, they're merely... props. Now that's scary. But, alas, when we arrive, we quickly realize that the bars in the manse are well stocked. Very well stocked. What were we thinking (we don't have bars save for those on our windows). This wasn't an APC dress rehearsal; this was... AP..arty. Nice. Now that's scary... if you happened to be anywhere on ************** drive in the early hours of that warm evening. (NOTE: Like Iim really going to slip up again and give the new address away.)




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